


A Mother's Gift

by RoRoWeasley



Series: Movieverse Oneshots [4]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Character Study, Family, Gen, High School, Implied/Referenced Character Death, mentions of Lucille Tracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoRoWeasley/pseuds/RoRoWeasley
Summary: Every year Mother's Day brings heartache for the youngest Tracy, but will his fears be set-aside after he is set a challenge? Face your problems head-on as they say…





	A Mother's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written back in 2014. 'Aquila' is Italian for eagle, I believe.   
> I don’t own Thunderbirds, but it is my birthday today! #23andfree <3

**A Mother’s Gift**  
A Thunderbirds oneshot by Ro-RoWeasley __  
  


* * *

**_No gift to your mother can ever equal her gift to you – life.  
~ Unknown_ **

* * *

Alan simply stared at the black ink leaping out at him from the slip of paper, bright blue eyes tracing the typed letters that formed the sentence. His breath hitched as his chest tightened, restricting the flow of air of his lungs and causing his heart rate to accelerate as fast as his beloved Aquila on race day.  
  
He shouldn’t be feeling like this. All the other kids around him in the tenth grade English class were already busy writing, their pens practically belching out steam as they eagerly transferred thoughts to manuscript. He yearned to do the same. It should come so effortlessly, to pick up his pen and deliver what glowing words he had to say regarding what the quote meant to him.  
  
But Alan Tracy’s mind was a complete blank.  
  
Not that he wasn't trying. Hell no, this wasn't some worthless music lesson where he'd spend an hour just banging some keyboard attempting to form a tune. Where would that get him in life? Okay so Virgil had played in big concerts but he was a grade-whatever pianist, it was normal for him to make sense of the sounds coming from the black and white keys. For Alan…not so much.  
  
Music wasn’t important to him, but _this_ was. It was important to show your parents how much you loved them, right?  
  
Well, that’s purely dependent upon circumstance.  
  
The reason he couldn't form the words was because he felt nothing, true and simple. He'd never really known his mom, unlike every other kid in the room. Their moms would be making them breakfast tomorrow morning, or kissing them goodnight later on.  
  
Alan's mom? She’d died when he was just three years old. Where there should have been love and warmth radiating from him when he thought about her, all he could come up with was an grey abyss of sadness, a feeling he preferred to keep locked away. He longed to ask his father more about her but had never had the courage - the Tracy patriarch always seem to close off whenever she was mentioned. His eyes would drift off to the sky and Alan would watch his face fight the emotions – grief, pain and sorrow. So long ago Alan had learned to only talk about mom with his brothers, but even then Alan would feel excluded.   
  
After all Scott, Virgil, John and Gordon all had memories of her.  
  
Last year on the island they’d spent Mother’s Day evening on the beach. Scott had made a campfire and the guys had shared memories along with making and eating s’mores. While Alan smiled at the stories themselves, he envied the looks on his brother’s faces. Identical looks of recognition and remembrance of whatever event was being talked about, coupled with equally identical grins and echoes of laughter. Although he could clearly picture the scenes in his mind, there was no emotion to go with them – only guilt if anything.  
  
Guilt and regret.  
  
She’d died as a result of saving him in that avalanche all those years ago; it would be twelve this coming Spring Break. He’d robbed her of twelve years of life, of a whole future of happy memories with dad and his brothers. That was the guilt that crept up on him occasionally. But there was also regret that in turn he had missed out on sharing happy memories with her. How could he participate in feeling John’s joy of spending a weekend camping in the park stargazing with her? Or Scotty’s thrill at discovering his love of flying at his first Air Show she took him to back when he was ten? Even Gordon could remember her watching his first swimming lessons. How could he even pretend to feel those kinds of emotions if he didn’t know the person in those memories?  
  
But with the guilt and regret came a sense of acceptance too. The avalanche sparked dad’s dream of creating the global rescue organisation headquartered at their tropical island home.  
  
But looking again at the blank lined paper he was supposed to be writing upon the sinking feeling was back and he dismissed the last thought with a vigorous shake of the head. He could hardly write ‘ _my mom is dead but that’s okay because that’s the reason International Rescue is around today_.’ Who was he kidding?  
  
Life had a habit of making the greatest of things happen from the most tragic of events.  
  
The avalanche had cost them their mom, but in return had given Alan his life and had fuelled the operation of International Rescue.  
  
If mom were alive right now to hear any of this, Alan would be sure as hell to tell her that no gift, no matter how grand, he could muster for an occasion such as Mother’s Day, just wouldn’t match the enormity and majesty of what she had given him: life, that he had been determined ever since to live to the absolute max.  
  
Say, that was it!  
  
Re-reading the quote the teacher had placed in front of him, Alan began to write, finally breaking into a smile.  
  
While the most obvious interpretation, and what no doubt the other boys in his class would be writing, was what their moms had done for them in the last few years or on a daily basis. How they could go to her with any problem that she would fix right up no matter the difficulty. Alan could apply those traits to his brothers, who had looked out for him since he could remember. Four older brothers, Alan mused, who could be a flock of flapping hens and a pain in the ass one minute, then a bunch of goons the next.  
  
So instead he focused on a different aspect. Lucy Tracy had not just given him life in the standard way a mother does; she had literally given her life for his. And a part of her still lived with them – within Scott, Johnny, Virg, Gords. Through them he could see her.  
  
Now that was, without a doubt, the best gift Mom had left him.


End file.
